


Embers and Neon Signs

by CalumSmiles (dreamforlife)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Obliviousness, Pining, Staring, boys being silly and stupid, cashton because I have to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 13:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamforlife/pseuds/CalumSmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can we please get in some actual practice before we get dinner?" Calum asks with a pointed gesture at his bass, "I don't fancy sucking in front of David Beckham tomorrow."  </p>
<p>The fact that probably the most well known British footballer is coming to their London show is a fact that Luke hasn't grasped quite yet. He's certain it won't sink in until he actually sees Beckham at the arena. Maybe not even then.  </p>
<p>Ashton's snort is well placed and covers up Luke's quieter one.  </p>
<p>"The only thing you want to be sucking in front of David Beckham is his dick."  </p>
<p>Calum flips Michael off the best he can with an expensive instrument in his hand, going as far as to poke out his tongue. Luke wonders if any of them will ever grow up to be actual adults.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Luke has a thing for Michael, Michael has a thing for Luke, Calum has a thing for Ashton and Ashton has a thing for Calum. </p>
<p>Or, basically, the one in which they're all as hopeless as each other but Luke and Michael are a little bit worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers and Neon Signs

**Author's Note:**

> I know i haven't updates Blue Masquerade yet, and I WILL I PROMISE, but in the meantime, I wrote this while I was on holiday so I hope you like it! 
> 
> Consider it an apology for the horrible lack of updates. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Luke often wonders, in times of great desperation, hopelessness and general everyday living, whether Michael Clifford was created and put on this earth for the sole purpose of torturing him.  

It isn't that he hates Michael, oh dear God no; it's far from that. In fact, it's the farthest one could possibly get from it. Has been, for a long time. 

You see, Luke is arse over tit in love with the guy. 

Which is a Very Big Problem--capitalisation completely necessary--if you know who Luke is and what he does for a living. 

Sometimes he feels like he's an extra in an episode of Supernatural, hunted by the Winchester brothers. Only, if you think about it, he's probably Sam and hopelessly addicted to demon blood to survive. And it's pretty damn obvious who the demon blood represents. 

Yeah...his brain is a strange place.

Bloody infuriating prat, Luke thinks to himself as he watches Michael through lowered lashes, fingers absently tuning the guitar in his lap. He's been getting a bit too invested in the Harry Potter movies lately and particular pieces of memorable vernacular have seeped into his vocabulary. He likes the way British insults have a different sort of kick to them, taste different on his tongue compared to a simple, more primal stupid fucking idiot.  

Michael is doing nothing wrong, of course. Despite being his usual chaotic, rather irritatingly charismatic self and cracking the worst sexual innuendoes known to man, Michael Clifford is just doing as he normally does. And this is what grates on Luke's fraying nerves like long nails against a chalkboard the length of The Nile.  

A small pink tongue darts out and glides across the bitten-red of a lower lip, leaving it glistening in the lights of the rehearsal room. Luke has to drop his gaze to the strings as a very audible hitch squeaks in his throat.  

There are many things Luke would like to do to that tongue and that dreadfully sinful mouth--and he is absolutely not heading in this direction. Nope. No, see, because he actually has some self-control.  

"You alright, bro?" Ashton asks from the drum kit behind him  and Luke twists around from where he's sat with an easy smile.  

"Breathed in wrong."  

Calum shoots him a wicked grin that he pretends not to see.  

"Your existence is a tragedy," Michael sighs dramatically and fluffs his red hair into soft spikes, "Can't even breathe right. God must've been drunk when he made you the human equivalent of a giraffe."  

A crack at his long legs. Hilarious.  

Luke just rolls his eyes. It's instinct. Has been since the age-old days of the infamous Year Nine Feud. But, as they say, hate and love walk on thin, thin ice.  

"Can we please get in some actual practice before we get dinner?" Calum asks with a pointed gesture at his bass, "I don't fancy sucking in front of David Beckham tomorrow."  

The fact that probably the most well known British footballer is coming to their London show is a fact that Luke hasn't grasped quite yet. He's certain it won't sink in until he actually sees Beckham at the arena. Maybe not even then.  

Ashton's snort is well placed and covers up Luke's quieter one.  

"The only thing you want to be sucking in front of David Beckham is his dick."  

Calum flips Michael off the best he can with an expensive instrument in his hand, going as far as to poke out his tongue. Luke wonders if any of them will ever grow up to be actual adults.  

"Alright, places, you lazy bastards," Ashton stomps out a rather counterproductive, lazy beat on a cymbal, "Back to work."  

Luke casts one last, heavy glance at the loose curl of Michael's fingers around the neck of his guitar and with a sigh that drains away most of his energy, gets to his feet.  

"Only for Beckham," he mutters. 

Calum flashes him a grin that looks like lightning and unwillingly, Luke feels his mouth pull up in response. 

Fuck Michael and his stupid red mouth. 

 

*

 

"My fifteen year old self is fucking crying somewhere!" Calum yells as he streams past. 

Luke feels like he's been injected with sunshine, floating on a concoction of what they had dubbed Post Show Afterglow--innuendo intended because they are who they are--and David Beckham's low, sex-vocalised, London drawl saying that they had killed it up on stage and that Brooklyn would shit himself in jealousy that he missed out. 

He laughs out loud. 

Calum flounces ahead, giddy and zealous with the praise from the football legend himself, yanking crew members into sweat-soaked hugs and announcing randomly that, "David Beckham fucking loves us, man!"

"He's gonna crash so hard," Ashton says from beside Luke as they head towards the bus, "and then we'll have a whinging, weepy Calum on our hands for the entire drive up to Edinburg, whining about how we've hit our peak and it's all downhill from here." 

Luke, having waved all of the fucks he had once given out a window around the time David fucking Beckham had hugged him, slides him a slick grin and leers. "Keep him occupied." 

The shove he gets in response is worth seeing the harsh flush burst across the high of Ashton's cheekbones. 

"Oh fuck off, arsehole. It's not like that." 

"Oh no?" Luke feels reckless with the euphoria encasing every cell in his body and setting them alight, "It's not is it? Well, have all the no homo bro sex you want and I'll just pretend that you're both as straight as you claim to be." 

He gets his foot stepped on for his trouble and an aggravated, embarrassed look stabbed through him before Ashton abandons him in favour of the bounding Calum ahead. Luke snorts to himself. Typical. 

Michael speaks up for the first time then. 

"You've really lost it, haven't you?" 

It's not a question that Luke needs to answer. He just flashes him a bright grin, flicking the sweaty fringe off his forehead. 

"One hug and you've actually gone crazy." 

Luke laughs and even to his ears it sounds delirious. "David fucking Beckham, Michael. Shit doesn't happen everyday." 

An entertained chuckle. "Sometimes I'm not entirely sure you're straight." 

"Who said I was straight?" It slips out before he can stop it, the brain-to-mouth filter completely useless in the face of the adrenalin pumping like wildfire through his veins. 

Michael falters in his step, his face shuddering through a million different emotions before it settles on an expression twisted between confused shock and acceptance. 

"You...What?" 

Luke eyes him, feeling a little sheepish, as they continue on their way, shrugging as his teeth slice into the chapped skin near his lip ring briefly before letting go. "Not straight. Not really." 

"Oh." Michael sounds winded, like he's been clubbed over the head with a mace, punched in the chest by The Rock. There's a small pause. And then, "Why didn't you tell us?" 

"Not really a big deal," Luke mutters, hoping it sounds like an adequate reason as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him as light catches the brilliant green of Michael's eyes and the long sweep of the lashes framing them. 

Right then. 

Michael shoves him to the side, sending him stumbling into the wall. As he makes an effort to steady himself, he turns to gape at his best friend. 

He gets a petulant glare in return. 

"I'm gonna ask again, shit bag. _Why_ didn't you tell us?" 

Luke sighs, trying to stamp down the flare of emotion in his chest as he watches Michael's eyes glow with warmth and something that looks pride despite his words. "Cos it hasn't been important." 

"Why now then?" Michael demands as they emerge into the car park and head for one of the buses parked along the fence. 

He fumbles for an answer, something to throw Michael off asking too many questions and finding the truth. 

It's then that he realises that the answer has been staring him in the face. 

"David Beckham," he says with what he hopes is a lazy shrug, "The guy's made thousands of boys question their damn sexuality. Like, it's not even a big thing." 

"You questioned you're straightness because of him?" 

Michael sounds curious and that is a very, very bad thing. Because a curious Michael Clifford is a perseverant Michael Clifford and will not give up without the answer he's chasing. 

"Nah, wasn't him. He's just fit as fuck though, isn't he?" 

"Who was it then?" 

Luke catches his eyes as they reach the bus. The sound of Calum and Ashton having some kind of squabbling match drifts out. Michael's eyebrow ticks up expectantly. 

His breathing shallows as a low tremor of panic thunders in his heart. The flash of Michael's bedroom in his head and the echo of a soft singing voice in his ears shakes him. 

What was he going to say? Oh yeah, _hey Michael, I've kind of been in love with you since you opened your mouth and sang Good Charlotte to me in your damn bedroom five years ago so it's really all your fucking fault that I'm gay as hell for you?_  

Yeah right. Because that would turn out well. 

So Luke just pastes on a teasing grin and leaps up the stairs. "You'll just have to guess if you're so curious." 

Michael groans behind him. "You're such a shit." 

Luke laughs and it echoes through the small kitchen. "Baby," he says dramatically, turning around and cocking a hip, "I was born this way." 

He gets an packet of Skittles flung at his head. 

Laughing, he ducks and heads for the shower, feeling warm and happy and entirely too pleased with himself. 

That probably should have been his first clue. 

 

*

 

"Liam?" 

"Who, Payne?" 

Michael hums as he fiddles with his microphone stand. 

"Nope." 

"Dammit." There's a small pause. "Are you sure?"

Luke chuckles, using Michael's distraction to admire his creamy skin under the glow of the lights in the room. There's a pearly sheen to it that makes him look almost ethereal, his green eyes mixed in a million different colours like Mother of Pearl, and his full red lips pursed in displeasure. 

The urge to kiss them is too strong in that moment and Luke's hands tighten around the neck of his guitar. 

_God_. 

A heavy breath whistles past his mouth and he sags against his own microphone stand.

Ashton shakes his head in exasperation and mutters something under his breath that Luke doesn't hear. But Calum does and chokes on the water he's drinking, spluttering everywhere and leaning forward to stop from destroying his bass. 

The half-hearted glare Luke shoots Ashton gets him a cheeky grin in return. Luke's curiosity peaks but before he can ask, Michael throws a guitar pick at his face. It pings point blank off his nose.

Stunned, Luke blinks, turning his head to--well, he isn't quite sure but the sight of Michael giggling away silently with scrunched up eyes and rosy cheeks has him biting down on an annoyed sigh before turning away to hide the open look of longing on his face. 

It's probably Luke's resigned acceptance that Michael would never feel the same way that stops him from realising how hard Michael had been pulling his proverbial pigtails for the past five years. 

 

*

 

"The Rock?" 

Luke almost snorts chocolate milk out of his nose as he starts to cackle. 

Michael is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from Dwayne Johnson and so far out on his guess that Luke can't help but nudge him closer. 

"Ice cold," he gasps as he wipes his eyes, laughter clinging to his cheeks, "So ice cold that the polar bears are crying for help." 

Michael scowls. 

 

*

 

"It was Harry Styles, wasn't it." 

It's not even phrased as question. 

Luke glances up as his eyebrows rise, blinking at the boy standing shirtless and wringing his stage shirt in his hands in the middle of the dressing room. 

Calum has Ashton sufficiently distracted as they argue about where to head out for breakfast the next day on one of their infamous Not-Dates and Luke is very glad for their preoccupation with each other. 

"I was fourteen," Luke mutters as he passes Michael to his box, "Harry Styles may have a smile worth fainting for but no. It wasn't Harry." He pauses as a thought occurs to him and raises an eyebrow over his shoulder at Michael. "Though I know he was yours." 

Another thing. Despite what the obvious assumption might be, Luke is absolutely not jealous of all the time Harry spent with Michael. And he is most certainly not jealous that they had hooked up for the length of the Take Me Home tour. Absolutely not. Not even a little bit. 

"Not even at all," he mumbles under his breath. Something irritated and ugly rears its head in his stomach and he tries to stamp it down. 

At this point, he isn't sure who he's trying to convince. 

Michael groans in exasperation and stomps off to the bathroom with a hissed, "You're fucking impossible."

Luke is too weak not to admit how hot Michael is when he's angry. He really has spiralled so far. 

Ashton doesn't even look up from his phone as he calls, "Baby brother," after Michael. 

Luke grins and shares a knowing grin with Calum. 

Being the youngest is always extremely useful. 

 

*

 

"Channing Tatum?" 

Luke looks up from where he's mourning the lack of Weetbix as he stares into a bowl of soggy fruit loops--who the hell bought fruit loops anyway?--and frowns as Michael crunches into a piece of toast. Crumbs rain down onto the plate and stick to the stubble around his mouth and Luke wants to reach out, just over the small distance between them, and brush them away. And maybe kiss him a little, bite the full swell of his bottom lip and--

Okay. No. 

Instead, his knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the spoon and just waits. 

Michael swallows the toast, Adam's apple bobbing low, and waves the rest of the toast around. More crumbs fly. "Your whole not straight thing. Was it Channing Tatum?"

A surprised snort bursts out of Luke unbidden. 

"No," he says laughing, "No, it wasn't him." 

An unimpressed look crosses Michael's face. "Jack?"

"Barakat?" When he gets a mumbled affirmation, Luke shakes his head with a grin that he knows will drive Michael insane. "Nope."

"Alex? Rian? Zack?"

"Nope." 

"Benji? Joel?" 

"What the fuck, no, Michael."

A frustrated sound rips out of Michael's throat and he flings the toast onto the plate. "Brad Pitt?"

Luke chortles. "Keep guessing." He catches Michael's eyes and flashes him a confident grin. "But just know that you're destined to fail.

"Leo?"

"DiCaprio?"

"You know any others?"

"Tom Cruz?"

Luke just grins and shakes his head, letting Michael hang his head with a frustrated growl. 

A thump comes from the bunks before Ashton's voice rises suddenly to belt out a line from How You Remind Me, tapering off into a weirdly suitable falsetto. 

Michael turns to Luke with wide, gleaming eyes. "Was it Ashton?" 

He chokes as he inhales. After a battle with the collar of his shirt and trying to breathe, Luke waves his spoon weakly. _"What the fuck?"_

Calum chooses this moment to walk in, shirtless, rumpled and humming with a spring in his step. His neck and collarbones are viciously marked with mouth-shaped bruises and Luke exchanges an amused look with Michael. He spots more lower, on the ridge of Calum's hip above the low slung shorts, and has to mentally applaud Ashton for a thorough job. But then, Luke supposes, he shouldn't be surprised; Ashton is thorough in everything he does and clearly, it extends to sex. 

For two people who insist that they're absolutely straight, Calum and Ashton have way too much sex. With each other. 

"Ashton was what?" Asks the obviously freshly-laid Calum Hood, reaching for an abandoned slice of toast and leaning against the counter before looking directly at them. 

"Worryingly quiet, apparently," Luke says, "What did you do, gag him?"

A flush bites at Calum's cheeks. "Fuck off." 

"No wonder he's so chirpy this morning," Michael mutters, eyeing the bunks, "Jesus Christ. I'm never sitting in the back lounge again." He turns back to Luke. "So, was it?"

Luke snorts. "No. No it wasn't Ashton."

"What're we talking 'bout?" Calum asks around the toast. 

"Whether or not it was Ashton who turned Luke gay. Which is so fucking unfair, speaking of--" 

_"Bi,"_ Luke corrects under his breath, "Bi, not gay." 

Not that it particularly matters, considering he hasn't looked at anyone else since he was fourteen because somewhere inside him is a tiny little place, an oasis in a desert of scepticism and broken dreams, that holds a sliver of hope. 

Calum chokes. Luke sighs, rubbing his temple. There are no secrets in this goddamn band. Luckily for him, Calum already knew. 

Michael is too busy ranting about how unfair it is that Luke didn't tell them about the whole not-straight thing to notice the sly grin that Calum casts his way. 

A flush climbs into his cheeks and he surreptitiously throws Calum the middle finger. He knows he's obvious, alright, it does not need to be broadcast. 

"Not his type," Calum says aloud, cutting Michael off, "Barking up the wrong dick, mate, Ashton isn't his thing." 

Michael stares at Calum for a long moment before his neck snaps and his head swings to Luke, a glimmering edge of hurt glinting in his eyes. 

"He knew?" 

It's quiet, subdued in a way that Luke hasn't seen Michael in a long time. 

He sucks on his bottom lip. "Cal figured it out...apparently I'm more transparent than cling wrap." 

Calum snorts at the direct quote of his from way back in high school. "Mike, just open your eyes. The answer is staring at you in the face." 

This is brilliantly deadly advice. Because not only is Luke sitting directly across from Michael but Michael is also staring hard at his reflection in the black granite table top. 

Luke is fucked seven ways to Sunday if Michael realises this. 

And the thing is...he does. Luke sees the way he studies himself for a moment longer, sees the way the eyelashes flutter when shock hits him and his eyes go wide. 

"Is it me?" 

That right there is Luke's cue to get the fuck out, even if it means jumping off a moving vehicle. Maybe he'll walk out in front of it just for kicks. 

"And that is my cue to leave," Calum murmurs and Luke, although he's staring at Michael with terror burning through him, can hear the smile in his voice. 

What the hell Calum hopes will happen now, he doesn't know. 

Frozen in place as Calum leaves with the very likely intention of informing Ashton, Luke swallows past the sudden dryness of his throat. 

"Is it?" Michael whispers and his voice is barely there, hushed and strained as big green eyes burn with a new kind of fire. 

Luke feels caught. 

"No," the word trips off his tongue, burning in his mouth like the lash of a whip, "No. It...no." 

There are nettles in his throat and an earthquake somewhere deep in his chest, and Luke wonders if he'll get out of this alive. 

Michael will see through the lie and when he does, Luke isn't sure that he can escape without a tear in his heart. 

"Luke." 

It hangs in the space between them, just a simple word, just his name, quiet and heavy with helpless desperation. 

He can't look away from the drowning fruit loops even though Michael's eyes are boring into his forehead. 

There's the sound of a chair getting shoved back, scraping on the linoleum like screeching brakes on bitumen, and Luke feels his back tense and shoulders curl up towards his ears. 

He doesn't think he's breathing when he feels Michael's hand sear into his bare shoulder, fingertips dipping in hard. 

"Luke, you need to--I need to know." Michael says quietly and for the first time in a long time, Luke can't read the raw, quivering emotion in Michael's voice. 

That is what makes him look up.

Michael is watching him with eyes glittering emerald green in the faded morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, burning with the same intensity of emotion he'd let them see through Jet Black Heart, and Luke feels the lightning crash of want flare in the pit of his stomach. 

"I--" 

There are fingers gripping his jaw and a hand sliding around the back of his head before he can say anything. Between one heartbeat and the next, Michael catches his eyes. 

Their mouths crash in a clumsy kiss, teeth clacking before Michael yanks his head to the side and rights the angle. It's wet and messy and there's absolutely no art to the way they tug at each other and tear at their hair, but Luke would swear in a court of Law that it is the best kiss he's ever had. 

He can feel it in the curl of his toes and the fizzing in his blood as Michael fists a hand in his hair and sucks on his lip ring. Luke wants to die. 

His hands are under Michael's shirt and he has no idea, no fucking clue as to how they ended up there but he takes full advantage and trails his fingers across the smooth skin, thumbs pressing into the divots of his hipbones. Michael makes a breathless sound into his mouth.

Luke can honestly die a happy man. 

_"Wow."_

It's Calum's amused voice that manages to pull them apart. And even then, it's only with a bare inch between their bruised lips. 

Luke is panting, chest heaving as the crick in his neck aches at the angle he's bent upward at. He can feel the fire flood his cheeks with blood as his fingers tighten around Michael's hips. Michael's eyes are unreadable, dark and smouldering into what feels like the depths of Luke's soul. 

"Pay up."

That catches his attention and he tugs his swollen lip into his mouth to watch Calum grumble as he forks over fifty pounds to a grinning Ashton. 

"And the other half?" The drummer asks, leaning a hip against the doorframe as he pockets the winnings. 

Calum snorts, shoving his shoulder. "You're so horny, you shit. Keep it in your pants." 

Ashton's eyebrow ticks up and Luke almost shudders at the expression that slips like a mask over his face. It's dark, predatory almost, and powerful. 

Apparently Calum feels it much stronger because his mouth parts, eyelids slipping halfway and his neck baring to the side as he swallows hard. 

"Fucking Christ," Michael mutters above him, pulling Luke's attention away from the intense staring between their best friends, "That was not the way I wanted to find out that Calum is a sub."

He bites down on the laugh that bubbles up, pulling himself up using Michael, and tugs on the waistband beneath his fingers. 

"Mikey?"

"Yeah?" The answer is just as quiet, just as hesitant. 

Luke slides his hand upward, over Michael's heart and the other slips over his neck, right above his pulse. 

It hammers, just slightly out of sync with the battering thump under his right palm, and Luke can't help the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

"Shut the fuck up," Michael mumbles, his nose brushing along Luke's cheek, "Shut up." 

That's all he needs.

"I've been in love with you for so long," he whispers on a breath and his fingers curl against Michael's heartbeat as it trips over itself, "I don't remember what it feels like to not." 

There's an audible hitch in Michael's breathing. 

"Luke..." He murmurs and he sounds bowled over. 

"You caught me at Green Day," Luke says, tugging at his lip as a small smile spills across his mouth. "And you had me from Good Charlotte." 

"Oh my god," Ashton's whisper comes from Luke's left, "I might throw up."

But he sounds achingly fond and Luke cheers silently because regardless of Ashton's words, he's a giant softie. 

Michael barely glances at the drummer. "Go fuck Calum and leave us alone, you shit." 

Luke would whistle in shock but the ringing silence that sets in is thick and charged with something explosive. Like a hair trigger on a bomb. 

It's when Calum lets out a pained, winded laugh that it dissipates. He takes a deep breath. 

"Fuck off Michael, I sorted out my shit before you did," he claims with a resolute roll of his eyes, "That jet ski better be waiting for me when we get home." 

This bet is news to Luke and by the surprise on Ashton's face, it's news to him too. 

Huh. 

"Please continue to share with the class," Luke deadpans, stepping away from Michael and raising an eyebrow. 

Michael is viciously shaking his head at Calum, eyes wide and panicked, a flush roaring in his cheeks. 

Calum's laughter rises around them like the warm summer sun. "Oh you are in such shit, Michael."  When he gets another frantic head shake in return, he just grins. "We were sixteen, back home before Take Me Home, and Michael shows up at my house at fucking two a.m. panicking out of his mind--"

"Alright, Calum, fuck off thanks." Michael interrupts. 

"--because he wants to kiss Luke and I swear, I've never heard Michael ramble that much to this day," Calum continues, ending with a deep, theatrical sigh. "So I fessed up to wanting Ashton and we swore that whoever owned up first would get a jet ski. Didn't think shit would happen at the time, of course." 

Luke's brain is swirling like the chaos realm, eyes glued to an embarrassed Michael as he chews on his lower lip. 

_"Sixteen?"_ He demands at the same time as Ashton exclaims. 

_"Take Me Home?"_ Caramel hair flies as he gestures at a suddenly sheepish Calum. "Are you kidding? I've wanted to ask you out since that day you came to the movies with Luke and now you tell me?" 

Luke wisely shuts up and watches. Now this. This is what he'd been telling Calum for months. 

Calum is gaping at Ashton, eyes bugging out of his head and jaw dropped open like something out of a Looney Tunes cartoon. 

"But you weren't--what about Gemma?" Calum manages finally. "Lisa? Bryana?"

"I'm bi, idiot," Ashton groans, throwing up his hands. He casts an apologetic glance towards Luke and Michael. 

Luke snorts. This is gold. 

"You think we didn't know?" Michael scoffs, "You two have been fucking in this bus for five months straight-- _oh shut up Luke,_ it's not that funny--and you thought we hadn't figured it out?" 

Pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle the bubbling laughter, Luke shuts up. 

Calum just makes an unhappy sound and launches himself at Ashton, shoving him back hard against the door frame and pulling his mouth into a kiss. Ashton's cheeks rise in a quick grin, muttering a stupidly fond, _"idiot,"_ against Calum's mouth before his hands sink into Calum's hair. 

"Wow," Michael mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, "Steal all my thunder, why don't you." 

Luke reaches out and pokes him hard right in the sternum. "You. Why didn't you say something?" 

"Why didn't you?" Michael retorts with a petulant grumble. 

"I just poured out my heart to you and all you said is my name. Dick." He adds for good measure.

He watches as Michael flushes again, tugging at the back of his neck hard once, twice, before his body droops as he releases a long breath. 

Suddenly, Luke finds himself pushed back against the table, the edge digging into his thighs. The nervous thundering of his heart threatens to bowl him over. 

Michael is standing in front of him, hands cupping his jaw with a wildfire roaring in his eyes. "I want to say your name in a hundred different ways," he murmurs after a few silent seconds, "In all the ways I can learn to say it. _God_ \--Luke, you have no idea how much--I love you, okay? Fuck, I just, I love you so fucking much." 

Luke takes a dragging, strained breath before circling his arms around Michael's waist and kissing him. 

His heart might give out with how full it feels, like it could burst at any given moment, aching and shuddering as he tastes the burnt toast and sweet coffee on Michael's tongue. 

They are both breathing heavily when Michael inches apart, his grip tightening on Luke's jaw. Luke can feel his knees threatening to give out as his head spins, his senses overwhelmed by everything Michael. 

"Love you." 

Luke can't help but grin. "Yeah."

Michael grins back and hooks his chin over Luke's shoulder, drawing him into a hug. 

"Sap." Luke murmurs fondly as he shuffles closer. 

"I knew this band was gay but I didn't think we were this gay. This is by far the gayest thing we've ever done," Michael says aloud. He sounds incredibly amused. "Next step is an orgy."

There's a slick sound behind him and Luke pulls away from Michael to turn around. 

Only to see Calum and Ashton separate, looking thoroughly debauched, Ashton's fly undone and zip pulled down and Calum fingers inside the waistband. Ashton has his hands still in Calum's hair. 

Luke just grins, watching as Ashton realises just what they're doing in front of who and exactly where Calum's hands are. 

"Oops," he says and Calum takes the opportunity to snap the waistband against Ashton's stomach. "Ow!"

"M'not stopping for them," the bassist growls, "Get these off and get in the damn shower." 

Ashton rolls his eyes and throws a two-fingered salute their way, disappearing down the hallway with a victorious Calum attached to his neck. 

Michael turns, waggling his eyebrows at Luke. "Whatcha say?" 

Giggling, Luke presses a kiss to Michael's nose and bounds away down the hall, thumping the shower door hard and getting a muffled, pained sounding _"fuck off!"_ from Ashton, before throwing himself into the back lounge. 

Michael comes barrelling in a bare minute later, ramming Luke into the couch cushions and hugging him like an octopus. 

"You know they had sex on this couch right?" Michael says a few long seconds later. 

Luke blanches, throwing Michael to the floor and jumping up with a disgusted groan. 

Michael, amidst clutching his elbow in pain, collapses into hysterics. 

 

*

 

That night, the two of them are in bed together, just falling asleep. 

"Was for you," he hears Michael whisper through the dusty haze of sleep, "All of it, Jet Black Heart, Wrapped Around Your Finger, The Only Reason, all of it was yours." 

Luke swallows past the stone in his throat and cuddles closer to Michael, reaching up and pressing his lips to the hinge of Michael's jaw. "I love you." 

Michael shudders a little before he relaxes, pressing his face into Luke's neck. "Thanks."

A small laugh escapes him. "Sleep, yeah? Gotta deal with Cashton in the morning." 

Michael groans. _"Brilliant..."_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it was okay ^_^ Comments are always, always loved of course! Leave one and I'll definitely reply :) 
> 
> My tumblr is aneverendingreplay ^_^ Come say hi!


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